Random Pairings From a Hat
by T3h Toby-Chan
Summary: Drabbles and oneshots to some truly random pairings, from RizaxEnvy to EdwardxLegolas. Comes in four delicious flavors: Angst, Fluff, Humor, and my personal favorite, Crack! Latest Update: 'tattoo', Envy x Lust
1. Worst Intro Ever

Once upon a time, there was a lovely black bowler hat. It had stayed in it's box, unused for years in a dusty attic, until one day, it was unearthed by an eccentric girl. She was allowed to keep it, and made great use of it from that day forward. It went wonderfully with pinstripes, or other vintage motifs, but that's really not important to our story.

Upon the coming of curiosity and some moderate boredom, this girl, who also happened to be a writer and enthusiast of bizzare fan fiction, wrote a short list of characters from the television show, Fullmetal Alchemist, which she tore into squares, and mixed up lotto style within the fashionable bowler. She then proceeded to draw two slips at a time, and record the combinations of characters in her beat up notebook, and consequently was very amused.

Because this was so much fun, she told her friends about it. They were both spazztastic fangirls as well, and so were elated to join in the game. They all had great fun drawing the names together, and they added seperately, a Fruits Basket section, and because the other two were such rabidly insane Buffy fangirls, a Buffy drawing was added. They spent great loads of time drawing pairings and theorizing how they would work out, and even drew crossover pairings which made an eerie amount of sense.

It was from this great hyper congregation induced fun, that our fashionable fangirl decided that she really liked these so-called 'crack pairings', and thus decided to proceed in writing fan fiction for them.

She sat in her spinny chair, having had entertained herself for a good fifteen minutes by twirling in circles, and gathering writing inspiration, when an odd incident happened. Edward Elric walked into her room with a scowl upon his face.

"What's the matter?" She asked, boredly, as though she was used to two dimensional characters moseying into her room, which she most certainly was not.

"You're planning to pair me with wierd people. I resent that." He pouted, folding his arms.

"Too bad you got no choice, Chibi-Chan," She responded with a wink. Said Chibi attempted to make a death charge at her, but at that second she conveniently happened to have a mallet, seeing as she was the author in this situation, and thus was all-powerful. It does a lot for the ego, you see.

"Just calm down, Edward. You're really only here for the sake of making this technically a fan fiction, and this entire bit right here is nothing more than a clever guise for an author's note, which I am terribly bored of writing, and they're not supposed to be posted as individual chapters. I'm just beating the system. Like always. This is technically not an author's note and thus, I rebel." She grinned, clearly very proud of herself.

"You are so wierd. This is more self-glorifying than a Mary-Sue." Edward slunk back on a beanbag chair and rubbed the bump on his head.

"Hey, at least I'm strictly proffessional with you. Not like I'd want to with you anyway. Envy on the other hand- ..."

(Insert akward pause here)

"-ahem. Did I just say that out loud?" She averted her gaze with a quick cough.

"Ha! Toby has fantasies about palm trees!" The pint sized alchemist pointed and mocked openly.

"Outta my room, Elric, or I'm pairing you with Giles!"

"Eep!" The alchemist skittered out the door immediately, and the authoress relaxed once again, cracked her knuckles, and began typing the first random pairing drabble.

"This is gonna be fun..."

(/Longest.Author'sNote.Ever!)


	2. Dirty Tactics: RizaxEnvy

Riza Hawkeye was a sturdy, dependable and well reputed soldier, there was no mistake about that. There was never a blush about her name in the ways of sensibility and devotion to her missions, to the point that her peers had even tested to see if she would falter under pressure, or the influence of a good man. When her unblinking demeanor saw right past the very handsome distractions they had tried, it was joked that perhaps she 'didn't swing that way', to which they tried once again- and failed- to test the lieutenant for weakness of an amorous nature. It once again, didn't work, and they still had to pay the dancing girl for a full hour.

She had no hesitation when the mission she took on came with the warning "They're homonculus; Creatures who can do supernatural things", and simply clicked the hammer on her gun as if to say "Bring it on."

It was "Envy", that she wound up chasing down an alleyway; a creature of shapeshifting capabilities who had apparently thought it would be easy to scare off the cute blonde gunwoman by assuming a threatening muscular form, but was quite dissappointed in his plan, as he was simply answered with an impeccably aimed pistol shot past the ear. In fact, she had shot at him so many times, and given such a threatening chase, that the typically fearless sin was overcome with a knee shaking, knicker-wetting fear. In his panic, he transformed himself, out of mortified impulse into his first chosen "Cute" form, and pressed against the wall to which he had been cornered.

There was a click, that of a gun shell dropping to the ground, a blush, and what appeared to be a drip of blood marking the normally perfectly passive face of the smart sharpshooter.

"Ah- a-" she attempted to regain function of her jaw, but for the akward split second she couldn't manage control of her vocal chords. The sin looked up in horror at his temporarily paralyzed pursuer, and realized hopefully that he might not die. In the mean time, Riza was flusteredly clapping her free hand over her nose, unable to stop the tiny gush of blood. When she finally regained control of her nervous system, it was only to raise her gun and give a furious five round salute while yelling,

"That wasn't fair!"

**o.o.o**

(The moral of this story? Nobody can resist an androgynous prettyboy in a leather miniskirt)


	3. Miniskirt: RoyxEnvy

**A/N**: This one's something of a continuation of the last. (Griiiin!)

Poor Envy. How I doth love to torture thee.

It wasn't too uncommon of an occurance for one of his subordinates or another to come stomping up to his office in a storm of rage that wasn't at all unlike a natural disaster of some sort, however, said subordinate was typically under five feet tall, short-tempered, and most importantly, was not named Riza Hawkeye. This was probably why the typically well masked Colonel Mustang had to at least raise an eyebrow when his second-in-command stormed in the room toting a terrified captive under her arm and with her eyes flaming in an uncharacteristically murderous manner.

"Sir!" She wasted no time in piping up before he could ask what this was all about, "Requesting for you to take responsibility in retention of this captive, Sir!"

He paused a moment, scanning his subordinate and calmly replied, "Is there any particular reason you aren't taking responsibility yourself?"

Hawkeye clenched her teeth in a clear attempt at remaining scathingly within propriety, "Because, Sir, this lieutenant believes she may be unsuited for dealing with said captive in a level headed manner."

Leave it to Hawkeye to be reasonable even when she was in a blind rage.

The thought that perhaps she was overusing the word "Sir" entered his mind, as he waved her off with a "Very well, Lieutenant. Dismissed."

It probably wouldn't be too bad watching over the prisoner that even Hawkeye confessed to being uncapable of handling. Besides... he was bored out of his mind anyhow.

He approached the shivering mass stuck beneath a head of green spikes, and examined it critically. He probably didn't want to know what Hawkeye had done to him to traumatize him so, but however lethal this creature had been before, he was currently terrified witless.

"What's your name?" the Colonel asked.

It entered the Homonculus' brain to spit "Piss off" at the nosy colonel, but the thought that he was affiliated with the blonde sharpshooter whose impecable aim would forever haunt his nightmares forced him to back away, and mutter, "e-envy..." and stand back against a whitewashed wall.

The voice shocked the Colonel for a moment, and he furrowed his brow as he mused out loud,

"You're a man, aren't you?"

Envy had been asked that question dozens of times before, but wasn't quite certain that he'd ever been this... disturbed by it.

Meanwhile, the smug colonel was looking over the sin's features amusedly. He'd always been fond of mini-skirts, and appreciated the use they had in accentuating the female figure, but he'd never thought to consider the effect they could have on a man's body. The muscular shoulders, the slender waist, the leather hugging his thin, almost feminine hips. Why, he could almost consider...

The hungry smirk on Mustang's face as he approached his captive was far more terrifying than any long rendezevous with the barrel on Hawkeye's pistol could be.

Outside of HQ, there was a loud clatter for the second time that day, and a scantily clad and very violated looking sin stumbled panickedly onto the street, running for dear life. As he caught his balance, tripping to gain speed, he paused only to declare to the nearest person,

"You humans... are SICK!" and dashed off again.

The elderly and quite deaf woman simply smiled and waved.

"What a nice young lady," She declared, and moved on.


	4. Repair: AlxWinry

**A/N:** Fluff! Yay! .

Disclaimer: Me no own characters. Just the hat.

"Um... Winry?" the armoured boy mewled, bashfully poking his head through the doorway, "Do you have a minute?"

"Sure, Al. What's up?" She cheerily sang, swinging herself 180 degrees from her desk to face her guest.

"It's nothing big," he offered, holding his hands in front of himself in preemptive apology, as he was often known to do, "But..."

He fished a few screws from the pocket strapped to his leg and Winry immediately understood upon their appearance.

"No problem!" She declared, immediately fetching a screwdriver.

"Sorry, about this," Alphonse half laughed, scratching the back of his helmet, not out of any real necessity, "But I slipped on the garden stairs, and I can't seem to reach my shoulder to put them back."

"Jeez, Al. You need to be more careful. You're getting to be too much like your brother." She chided, twirling tool between her fingers with an expertise most girls her age reserve for mascara application, "Looks like you're missing a couple. I'll see if I have any in my drawer."

She worked joyfully, making light conversation, which Al listened to, not just dutifully, but eagerly, asking questions, and joking. He was a bit dissapointed when she was finished; several hours too quickly for his taste.

Edward had told him once that sometimes he and Winry had had their deepest conversations in the midst of automail repair. He'd said, in a manner that was uncharacteristically introspective, that she seemed to shed something from the reservation she kept when she felt the need to be nice all the time. Al just nodded, and said he understood, but he really didn't. He wished he could. He wanted that too. He was jealous, even.

"... Is there something else?" the mechanic inquired, as Al remained still in his seat for longer than he should have.

"Uh- no. Sorry for taking your time. ... Thanks." He got up and left, allowing the girl to return to her other work.

He would have to make it longer next time.

...Maybe losing a foot wouldn't be so bad...


	5. Impropriety: RoyxWinry

**A/N**: Aaaangst!

(Just so you know, this isa really effing difficult pairing to do. But that's what challenge is all about. ... Yup)

**o.o.o**

There are certain instances in life for which society offers no code of ethics. There are times in which those most avid in all social graces are left dumbstruck and utterly defenseless.

It wasn't in Winry's common routine to go strolling in the cemetary in the early morning, however, that day, Pinako had sent her out to find Hohenheim, having had spent the past days in solitary lamentation under the stars, and invite him in for breakfast. It certainly wasn't within Roy's pattern of behavior to wander off without telling others a thing, however there wasn't much to be said about the nature of his wanderings that wouldn't inspire profound akwardness, and uneasy morbidity.

She paused, startled to see that Hohenheim and his tent were both absent, and in his stead, another mourner lingered over the lined tombstones. His eyes were glazed, remorsefully reading the names chiseled on the face of the stones, a bundle of flowers nestled in the crook of his elbow. Her presence broke his reverie.

There truly is no measure of etiquitte that can prepare one for the tension of such an encounter. Though they had both done the best they could at akwardly avoiding direct contact in the house, trying to be as cordial as humanly possible while the colonel was a guest in their home, even the soldier, well versed in all manners of chivalry and propriety, and the chipper blonde who was famous for her brand of unconditional kindness, were rendered speechless at their sudden meeting. In the cemetary. At_ their _graves of all places.

She couldn't just turn around. She couldn't just stand there dumbly. Her legs took up their own conscience and neared the headstones she so often visited before out of an akward sense of sympathy. He had set the flowers down between the two places, and now stood empty handed, only steps away from the girl. _Their_ daughter.

What do do now?

What to say?

_'Good morning'?_

That sounded disrespectful.

_'Nice to see you here'?_

What kind of sick person says that in a cemetary?

_'I'm sorry,' _didn't even cross his mind to be spoken. Any apology didn't even begin to cover it. The wrong was infinite; the sin so blatant and grotesquely real, and there between them.

He was the one.

He was the monster who'd done it.

There was nothing to be said.

Wordlessly, almost without motion and without warning, he had folded her endearingly into a close, strong embrace. Not forceful. Not desperate. Just something right.

There was no remorseful torrent of tears; no melodramatic stream of apologies; no fireworks, or holy images in the clouds, or sudden wind like a sign that all was alright with the world again, and that forgiveness would follow, but somewhere, somehow, deep within the snug intimacy of their embrace, some tie came undone. Something was released, let go, set free.

He let her go, knowing exactly when it was time, and turned to leave. He walked away, hands in his pockets, no longer a proud soldier, no longer a vicious monster, but a man. Nothing more, and nothing less. He left, knowing this moment would remain between them forever in confidence, the harmless, yet utterly improper act.

But sometimes, impropriety is only right.


	6. Kitten: AlxWrath

**A/N**: Fluff, laced with angst. I drew this one, and it struck me as adorable. Thought to make it a drabble, then I ended up liking it so much, I got carried away. It's long! (But don't run away! No! Where're you gooooing?)

Contains very mild shonen-ai and Wrath-liking. Don't like either? Nobody's forcing you to read.

**Spoilers for Episode 51**

**Kitten**

Cats are cute creatures. Anyone with eyes and any heart at all knows that. They're fuzzy, playful, energetic, and have an endearing stuborness that only adds to their list of attractively adorable features. But cats are also independent, often selfish. When they have no use for something, they flippantly discard it without second thought. Those who have fed strays have all known the crushing twist in their chest that they feel when they realize that their favorite charity case has decided to dine elsewhere, and abandoned their hospitable food bowl.

And even though Alphonse Elric knew this perfectly, his generous, almost tragic, compassion still compelled him to continue giving selflessly. Even when his cats would stray off and leave him forever, he, always the optimist, wasn't quite as sad as he supposed he should be. The thought that perhaps they had gone somewhere better, more exciting, appealed to him, and kept him from despair.

His instinct to nurture was probably what first intrigued him about the Rockbell's newest patient, the wild eyed, rebellious boy who had been called "Wrath". Judging from select expectant looks from Winry and Rose when the two boys were in the same room together, he could hazard a guess that they had known eachother during the four years he'd supposedly forgotten, and sensing the nervous tension, as well as the boy's blatant frustration at containing himself, there had probably been some sort of unpleasant friction between them. However, Alphonse, ever the peacemaker, was determined to rectify whatever wrongs had been done by he and his brother in the past, even if he couldn't remember them, and even if his brother couldn't be there to tell him.

He started at first with the most direct approach, simply talking to the boy, however generally as he would attempt to make conversation, he would be responded by a string of colorful profanities, and possibly submitted to the mercy of odd projectiles from Wrath, who, in spite of being temporarily disabled with only one arm, was an incredibly good shot.

He tried offering his help, as the boy, under Winry's insistance, feverishly practiced his reading, and couldn't seem to get past the frustration of I's and L's, which looked all the same to him. He only recieved an angry rant consisting mostly of "You're not that great just because you can use alchemy!". Al wondered what alchemy had to do with it, but declined to ask, seeing as his personal safety was on the line.

He considered inviting him to play a game of tag, like he an his brother used to always do when they had something frustrating to deal with, but reconsidered, remembering that Wrath had just undergone the unbearably painful process of having docks for automail installed on his shoulder and knee, and even if he could bear the pain enough for playing contact sports, would probably end up taking out his pent up agony on whomever he was playing with. He crossed the idea out of his mind.

So, he ended up settling for the way he knew best. Just as he always kept an empty pie pan and bottle of milk ready for emergency strays, he walked outside armed with a pocketful of cookies. Having seen the boy eat, he was amazed at his readiness to devor anything and everything with greed and gusto, so he couldn't possibly refuse one of Al & Winry's own world-famous chocolate chip delicacies.

Wrath was sitting, slumped over on the stone wall overlooking the neighboring valleys and farms, favoring his right shoulder. He nearly jumped when Al tapped his shoulder, and pouted at the sight of the ever persistant boy who never seemed to leave him alone. The younger Elric apologized and smiled warmly, holding up a cookie in offering for peace. The shaggy haired child frowned, clearly in the depths of a desperate indescision, and finally gave in, swiping the cookie and gobbling it down messily, allowing Al to seat himself at a comfortable distance beside him.

Al waited politely, as the boy beside him noisily chewed, swallowed and proceeded to lick the crumbs off his fingers enthusiastically, all while retaining his stubborn pout. When he was conviced that he had scoured every last remnant of pastry, he glanced toward Alphonse, and quickly back at his foot.

"So," Al began, tapping his finger pensively against the rocky surface, "Does it still hurt?"

"Yes," Wrath muttered, absently rubbing the sore flesh above his knee, "You should know, shouldn't you? It was your dumb brother who used these first, wasn't it?"

"That might be so," he replied, "But you know I wouldn't remember about that." He gazed at the metal plates and wire connectors, and tried to imagine his brother with them, but still found the thought to be something of an oddity.

"Hnph. So you say," Wrath snorted, eyeing his companion critically, then gazing elsewhere and muttering as though to himself, "They didn't say it would hurt so much..."

Al could remember they way the boy had screamed out that previous evening as the two skilled mechanics went through the painstaking process of connecting nerves. His heart sank in pity, but he remained with his back against the wall in the next room, listening to the horrid shrieks. He could hear Winry trying to comfort the child, speaking to him, reassuring him that he could bear with it. It wasn't until Edward was mentioned that the boy silenced himself. That child seemed to feel some shameful sense of divine justice, knowing he was going through the same pain as Edward had, and even felt more ashamed when he learned that Ed had been the only one of their patients not to cry out from the pain. After knowing that, he nearly passed out trying to bear it, biting his lip so hard that it drew a tiny stream of crimson blood.

"But it's better now, right?" Al offered, hopefully.

"Yeah, but they still have to connect the limbs," Wrath declared mournfully, "And that's just as painful," He huffed, "You'd think they want it to hurt more."

"Winry and Auntie are really nice people. You know that. I mean, they even bought you clothes."

"They got us matching clothes! That's not nice. That's cruel." Al couldn't help but stifle a giggle. Even after enduring mortal pain, he could still find the ability to complain about the most childish of things. It was a little embarassing, having to wear matching outfits, and having the all women fawn over how cute they were, but it was a little nostalgic too.

"Mom used to make Brother and me wear matching things too," he mused, "But it was worse. We had to wear sailor uniforms. Brother hated it. But I thought he looked so funny." A look of sheer horror washed over Wrath's face at the mere mention of sailor suits, and he decided to be grateful for his relatively minor woe.

Al smirked and offered his companion another cookie, and he snatched it greedily.

"It seems so far away now," He spoke, almost as though it was only a thought to himself, "Mom, Brother, all those memories," He grinned contendedly at Wrath, "You know, she was the one who taught Winry and me how to make those cookies. And somehow they only seem to come out right when we make them together. Funny, huh?"

"Why not Ed?" Wrath asked casually. Al got excited, seeing the other boy seeming to take interest.

"Brother didn't take much of an interest in cooking. And when he did help, he usually just ate all the dough. He got terrible stomach aches from that. But Mom was always there to make it better. She had a special way of making you better when you got sick, you know? She really was the best."

"I don't wanna hear about your stupid mom." Wrath spat, suddenly shifting moods as though a particularly painful nerve had just been touched.

"That's mean," Al said, "Even if you don't want to hear, she was our mother. Don't call her stupid."

"Mothers are stupid. All they ever do is leave. You should know, after all."

"Mom didn't leave us because she wanted to! She died. Things like that just happen. I don't know about your mom, but-"

"I don't have a Mom!" Wrath protested stubbornly, and defiantly added, "I don't want one, either."

Al held his tongue, and stared at the ground beneath them, thoughtfully. He didn't know anything about the child's past, so perhaps it was best just to leave the topic alone.

He hadn't been able to conclude much from listening to Winry and Pinako, who always kindly tried to keep whatever bitter details of his lost years that there were from his knowledge. He had heard Izumi mentioned in reference to the boy, but he knew that Sensei didn't have any children. Perhaps a student, but then again, Wrath seemed to be bitter about not being able to figure out alchemy from the beginning. He couldn't even read well. Sensei wouldn't have allowed that.

He had once even heard the term 'Homunculus' used, but dismissed it. From what he had learned, Homunculi were just legends, and even if they existed, they were heartless dolls. Wrath, however odd looking he was with his deathly pale skin and piercing violet eyes, couldn't be heartless. He had seen the boy cry, scream, become angry, even laugh once, when he didn't know Al was looking. The best he could conclude was that he was an orphan that the Rockbells had found and taken pity on.

A stray.

"Where do you think you'll go?" Al asked timidly, "When you get your automail finished, I mean." He was poking where he shouldn't once again, much like extending a hand toward a tempramental cat. You get scratched. His need to understand overrode his personal sense of safety, like usual, and his sympathy, always threatening to be his downfall drove him to inquire further.

"Wherever," Wrath shrugged.

"You don't know?"

"I'll find somewhere. It dosen't matter." He drew his left knee upwards and disinterestedly tapped at the spare prosthesis strapped at his thigh.

"You know," Al offered, his tone turning thoughtful, "You could stay here with Winry and Auntie. I'm sure they wouldn't mind. I know Winry really likes you."

"Why would I want to stick around here? I hate you people. You're all the same. You pretend to care, but you don't. You never do!"

"You people?" Al parroted softly. Wrath gave him an incredulous look, before flicking him on the forehead.

"You really don't remember anything, do you?" He scoffed and hopped off the wall, leaning against it and heaving a long sigh, "Maybe it's better that way."

"Well, it's true I don't remember anything. But, sometimes I can sense things. Just a little vague feeling once in a while, like dejas vu, or some sort of inborn memory. Like with you, I feel... sad. Very sad. Wrath, I don't know what my brother and I did to hurt you, but whatever happened, I just want to say I'm sorry. I just hope that you and I can-"

"Aaaw, forget it! Just shut up about it already!" Wrath snapped, leaning agitatedly on his elbows over the stone wall, "Besides, you never did anything, so stop acting like you have something you owe me. It was all your stupid brother's fault."

"You really need to stop insulting my family like that," Al protested firmly.

"Well he is stupid." The dark haired boy muttered, "Just dumb and useless." He was speaking the words, but there was no sincere bite behind them, almost a defeated attempt.

"That's not true. Brother is important to me, and he loves me. He does whatever he can for me. That may be selfish of me to think that way, but... that's the way things are. We're family. We need eachother."

"Then why did he leave you?" Wrath shot, his glare pained, deliberate. Al's expression jolted in the blunt shock of the thought. But it wasn't just the proposition; it was the knowing, the experience with which the boy accused. He spoke as someone who knew. Rejection, abandoment, scorn...

Loss...

Al shifted, folding his hands in his lap, sitting methodically neutrally.

"I don't remember everything about it. The last thing I remember after... well, you know... it was a dark place. It was cold... and lonely there," He could sense Wrath tensing at his words, "But while I was there, even though I couldn't see, I remember hearing brother's voice. He held my hand, and talked to me, and we promised we would find each other again..."

"Why?" came the feeble, barely audible reply, then growing louder, "Why? Why you?" Al turned his head quickly, shocked to see the boy's eyes brimming with tears, as he made an angry fist, "You made it out of there right away. Why did you get to even have him with you in that place? Why wasn't it hell for you?"

Al was silent for a moment, and he shifted, turning himself to face back towards the house. He was empathetic to a fault, and wasn't sure he could handle speaking while looking at that angered face. He swallowed hard.

"I don't know," He wavered, "All I know is that the only thing that's kept me alive most of this time was Brother. He loves me like nobody else does, and I love him. We swore to take care of each other. That's what I know. Don't you have anyone like that?"

"I don't!" Wrath protested loudly, pounding his flesh fist against the rocky surface, "I don't need anyone! I hate you people! All of you. You're all fake!" He huffed angrily, and impulsively hoisted himself back upon the shallow wall, and faced the open fields away from the Rockbell house. He stared at the vast expanse and finally spoke more evenly,

"I'm leaving," He said, guesturing outward, as Alphonse twisted his neck and shoulders to gaze in the same direction, "I'm going to go off and live on my own, without anybody's help. That'll prove that I don't need you."

Al paused and shifted back to his normal sitting position, considered this, and responded calmly,

"Well, I guess if that's how it is, there's no stopping it. But, you will write, won't you?" He looked up with contented eyes, and smiled amiably. Wrath, just frowned for a moment in confusion and frustration, then shook his head, and plopped down, facing the opposite direction from Al, just beside him.

"You're nothing like your brother, are you?" He exhaled in a way that could almost be interpreted as half a bemused laugh. The conversation stopped there, in a stilled silence, before Wrath broke it again.

"Do you have anymore of those cookie things?"

Al smirked and nodded, fishing one from his pocket and handing it to the boy beside him, who took it less urgently this time. He held it halfway to his mouth and paused.

"This the last one?" He asked. Al nodded again. Wrath gazed at it considerately, and finally after some mental debate, broke it in half between his fingers, spilling crumbs on his shorts. He handed the one half to Al, who accepted it gratefully.

They chewed in silence, facing their seperate directions. Al felt the rough skin of healing scar tissue against his left arm as Wrath had set his hand back down. Although it seemed to be getting better, there was still the remnant of a grievous wound on his body; like an acid burn. Feeling it sent a shiver down his spine, another flash of memory, just a shard, but he knew he'd seen this burn before. He got the distant feeling that he'd seen the pain this boy had been through, but not being able to retrieve it conjured a deep and remorseful empty spot deep within his chest that he was unable to shake. The knowledge that he could have known, could have made something better, could at least have some idea of sympathy, but that it was out of his reach was sad, almost unbearable.

But Alphonse was strong. He was resilient and always forward-looking. He knew that no matter what he'd been through, or may go through, he could do it. Perhaps that was the only reason he was still alive.

"It's difficult," Al said, gazing at an apple tree off to his right, "Having to bear such painful memories. Even now, I remember losing Mom, and it's hard to live with. And I know I lost many difficult memories that may never ever return. But while that ignorance may be better, it's still sad. I may have lost something painful, but I know I've also lost the good things too. My time with Brother, the people we met. Winry's all grown up now, our home is gone, I'm meeting all these people I once knew, but can't remember. Like Miss Rose, and Miss Sciezka, or all those military people who have been writing. Not knowing them..." He glanced over at Wrath, who seemed confused, and straightened up, trying to explain,

"What I mean to say is, your past can be painful, but it can be beautiful as well. I don't have the same memories that I'm supposed to have, but you do. Maybe I'm even a little envious... but even if you don't like what you had once, you can still change. You don't need to forget; Just move forward. You can't change what happened, but you can change who you'll become. I believe that."

"Really?" Wrath murmured, in soft monotone.

"I have to believe that. It's the only way I can go on living. I don't know what sorts of things we did, and I can't change them, but I can do my best to make things better," He paused, and laughed, waving it off, "Sorry. I know you don't want to hear all this. I just hope you find what you're looking for when you leave, and maybe someday... you're welcome to return."

With that, he moved as if to hop off the stone gate, but was stopped by a rough hand on his wrist. He turned to see Wrath, holding on to him, but looking the otherway, face downwards, almost ashamedly. He slid back, remaining at his spot, as he felt a calloused wall of pride and anger crumbling, decomposing, slowly, but surely.

"...-sorry..." came Wrath's voice so low, he could barely be sure it wasn't just the wind, "For you, your brother, for everything. I'm..." He squeezed his eyes shut, grimacing at the task of trying to choke his words out.

"It's alright," Al reassured him, "You don't have to apologize for anything." The hand around his wrist gripped more tightly.

"It's not just... I didn't want to..." Wrath couldn't seem to make up his mind as to what he wanted to say, if anything, "I don't understand. Anything, really. None of this stupid world makes any sense at all. Nobody gets it. Not anybody. Not me, or you, or your brother, or-"

"You don't have to understand everything. Nor do you have to accept it. Just go on living as best as you can. I think you can do it, Wrath. I believe in you. I want you to keep going."

It was always Wrath's insatiable need, his impossible, unattainable desire to be loved and accepted. There is no more primal of a living creature's need, really. He lived, scorned and alone in the darkness, wanting, hating, never having. He searched day after day in his pathetic existance for a reason. Why couldn't he be loved just for being born as something he had no control over? Why was he abandoned? Why could humans have the only claim to love, yet only harbor wickedness for those like himself? He tried in every way he could to find his missing thing. He'd tried to impress Envy, the first homunculus he'd known by trying to become stronger, but only recieved scorn. He tried clinging to Sloth, but only recieved loss. Even with Dante, and all the others, he knew that merely accepting someone else's existance was not loving them. That was all he'd ever had. Acceptance, tolerance, expectance of usefulness. If he wasn't worth anything to them, he wasn't even worth keeping alive.

Then what was love? This sick human weakness that just makes them worse off in the end? Could it be this truly unconditional thing, like what Edward and Alphonse had? After having pursued it for so long, he was so terrified of it; terrified of finding it; terrified of losing it.

Yet there was a constance in Al's eyes, a deep trusting conviction that the sin could not help but feel relieved by, comforted and reassured, against all his mind's better ideas.

It stung him like poison to speak words such as "I'm sorry", "Help", "Thank you", "I need you", "I love you". He'd developed a shell of stubbornness and pride that he couldn't seem to bring himself through, so that when he tried to say those words, he just needed to retreat, back into himself, back into his wrath.

He couldn't use words, so he used his actions. He touched Al's chin, and drew him into a chaste, gentle kiss. It was so completely wrong, so against anything he'd been for all these years, he, the devil's child, the personification of anger; and yet, it was so perfectly right, so necessary, so much much better than trying to spew out his muddled thoughts, fears, apologies and needs. He broke away, and slid off the wall, turning up the garden path, and evenly, determinedly, walking away.

Even the mangiest, and lowliest of alleycats can somehow retain it's pride as it walks away, and in this manner, so too did Wrath, hobbling on his false leg, heading toward nowhere in particular, except for 'away'. Al watched him, his hand pressed to his lips in dazed confusion, and some small sense of revelation.

There was no stopping him in his need to simply get away. There were some things that just couldn't be helped. The friendliest of strays had the potential to suddenly leave, craving freedom, space, fearing permanence. But even then, the unlikliest of runaways also had the tendency to surprise, returning after their long journeys.

So even when Al sadly accepted their loss, and hoped for their better future, he still kept that hope tucked away in a small corner of his heart, that perhaps... someday they might return.

He remained on the garden wall for a long time, and silently prayed for the unlikely to happen.

**(Fin)**


	7. Screw: EdxWinry

**A/N**: Um... this one sucks. I'm sure it's been done before, but everyone has to write one of these at some point.

Screw

Sciezka really hadn't meant to listen in. She wasn't the eavesdropping kind of person, as she had once declared. But she'd simply been returning a few books she had borrowed from Winry, and was about to knock on the girl's door when she was jolted nearly out of her skin by the loud sound of furniture crashing and clumsily dancing footsteps.

"Winry, just gimme the screw already!" Came Edwards frustrated voice through the wall.

"No," the girl's voice protested defiantly, "I'm a free and independant woman. I can do what I want with what's mine." More shuffling commenced. Sceizka gasped and covered her mouth, mortified at what she'd just heard, and yet frozen to her spot on the floor.

"Dangitt Winry, you can't just tease a guy like this! If you're gonna keep giving it to me, you have to go all they way."

"And would you take it from me by force? What kind of man would you be, then? Goodness, Edward, what would Alphonse think?"

"I think he would do the same if he saw you like this."

"I think you don't give your brother enough credit. Al is a gentleman."

"Woman, don't talk to me about gentlemen at a time like this. I need some screwing, and I need it now!"

"Take it easy. I mean, you're just going to hurt yourself like that. And really, you're completely helpess, coming at me with that limp thing."

"Well sorry! It wouldn't be so limp if you just gave it to me!"

More havoc continued, crashing, punching, growling, and even a meow somewhere in there. At long last it ceased, with heavy breathing on the behalf of both teenagers in the room echoing. At this point Sciezka had turned a shade of red that any beet would have been impressed at.

"So," Ed panted, "It seems we're at... an impasse,"

"It seems so." Winry replied.

"You know, I wouldn't have to be this violent if you'd just give me some willingly. I have my needs, and I know you like it too."

"That may be so..." Winry paused, "But I can't give it to you while we're on opposite ends of the room!"

"Then we'll have to decide on a halfway point. The bed."

"You want me to give you the screw on the bed?"

"Well where else?"

"I dunno. The chair. The table maybe..."

"Why the freaking table!"

"Well why not?"

"It's uncomfortable!"

"Gee, Ed. If you're not gonna let me have some of it my way, then it's no screw for you!"

There was a loud noise, clearly Ed angrily punching the wall.

"Forget it! I'll just go get some from Auntie!" And his footsteps came storming towards the door.

Sciezka was shocked to see an angry, and fully clothed Edward, his defective automail hanging and flopping uselessly from his shoulder. She was relieved, not to mention that she'd nearly lost her lunch over Ed's last comment.

"That girl!" He fumed, stomping down the stairs.

The bookworm shyly peeked into the door to see a flustered, sulking, and also fully clothed Winry slouching in a chair, screwdriver in hand.

"Sciezka, do you need something?" She asked, perking up.

Sciezka just froze, plopped the stack of books she was holding in the doorway, and made a turn for the stairs, shivering.

"I have got to stop reading those romance novels."


	8. Fashion Sense: EnvyxWrath

**A/N**: This almost isn't a pairing. I kept on drawing Envy/Wrath from the hat. The fates seem to really want me to write it... It's just too haaaard!

I'm gonna burn for this one.

Fashion Sense

"Definitely looking good," Envy commented at last, proud of his work, as he stood behind the boy gazing in the full length mirror of Dante's guest room. The young sin twisted, and admired himself at comic angles, fidgeting and spinning until he finally decided he liked the final product, grinning widely with an eerily toothy smile.

"Thanks!" He declared, clenching his fists excitedly, as though new fashion was enough to pump his deranged-homicidal-rampage adrenaline to a whole new level, which it probably was.

Envy was rather amused by the kid. Well, on the level that he really could like any not-killing-Elrics related thing, in that he didn't exactly dislike him. Lust had had Gluttony as a lackey (An ugly incompetent lackey at that, but a lackey nonetheless), and had acted as a mentor and foster towards Sloth when she'd first showed up, and so, being ever so envious as he was, Envy rather desired a "Pet" sin to boss around. Much to his fortune, this kid was eager to impress, and rather looked up to him, so he had everything down in the lackey department, and he didn't look half bad (Not too much unlike a miniature version of himself actually), so he found himself with the strange urge to play dressup with the kid. Next day would come some battle and torture tactics.

Ah, corrupting an innocent mind was such great sport.

"Um... Envy?" The boy piped up, inquisitively.

"Yes?"

"Why don't I get a skirt thingy like you?" (A quick blow to the head)

"It's not a skirt! Only girly men wear skirts!" The older sin planted his hands on his hips admonishingly.

"Um... why don't I get a... er...- kilt?"

Envy scoffed, "Because only the very best of the best homunculi are allowed to wear the cooler clothes. And the kilt is my trademark. Don't you forget it. Now run along and kill something."

"Yes sir." Wrath replied dejectedly.

It wasn't more than a few days later that Envy had been wandering about the mansion, trying to find Lust, since Dante'd summoned her for some dumb task or another. He knocked on the mahogany door of one of the spare rooms, since while Lust, just like the others never got tired or anything of the sort, she'd had the tendency to stay inside her own space, requesting privacy. _Women... _

"Lust?" He asked, poking his head cautiously in the door, positioned so he could dodge any hurdling objects on the off chance she didn't want him in there. He didn't see his busty younger companion in there, however, but someone standing in front of a mirror, who looked oddly like himself.

Just like...

"Hey!" He fumed stomping towards Wrath, "I thought I told you, only _I_ get to wear the loincloth!"

"I just transmuted my-"

"I don't care. OFF!" With one swift angry motion, he tore the black cloth.

Oh crap.

"You little _moron_! You're supposed to wear SHORTS underneath it!"

Envy'd never blushed like that before.


	9. Mistletoe: RoyxEd

**A/N**: I hate RoyEd... No offense to fans. Of course, the hat commanded me, and I must obey the hat. Gladly, I was hit with this wierd mistletoe idea for Edward, but since I love the torture, I was wondering what would be the worst person for Ed to get kissed by. (On second thought, this isn't 'worst' by any means... I won't consider the other bad options.) I actually doodled a comic (A sucky one) to this. If anyone cares for it at all, I might make a final version of it and put it on DevArt. For now, Enjoy! (Anyone who gets the reference to a certain flash cartoon gets a million points!)

Mistletoe

It seemed like such a brilliant idea at the time he came up with it. After all, the stupid cowlick hadn't been doing anything useful for him for the past 16 years, and he might as well be putting it to some use. So what better use could there be than to get him a little action on Christmas Eve at the Hughes' annual Yule bash?

Brilliant, right?

It was slightly painful, with a little bit of wire and snapping rubber bands put into use in order to make the fusion complete, but in the end, the cowlick showed a remarkable amount of resilience in it's ability to keep standing while holding the little twig of mistletoe hovering right over his forehead. Well, he downed several glasses of Egg Nog, and his confidence was boosted well over what the legal limit could be, so the normally disinterested 'girls-have-cooties' personality type alchemist was feeling randier than a rabbit on a sugar high. And with all the cute girls at the party, he was certain he'd get his first kiss and then some.

Several grotesquely terrible pickup lines, personal space invasions, and subsequent clobberings later, it was proven that the so called boy genius could still have his dreams crushed with melodramatic misery. (Yes, he deserved most of it, but really, the wrench was a little unnessecary)

Having had his pride destroyed, and forbodingly deciding he couldn't get any lower, he decided he might as well just loudly bemoan his terrible situation.

"Is it so hard for a guy to get a little action around here?" He cried, painfully drawing attention to the bobbing stick of societally symbolic parasitic growth attatched to his forehead.

Oh, Edward. Poor Edward. Think before you become desperate, dear sweet Edward.

A hand gripped his shoulder, and he felt the blood thoroughly draining from his face as his wishes were granted, and he was obligingly and enthusiastically given his first kiss.

He was nearly sick.

He saw the face as his bestower drew back and gave a trademark smug bastard smirk, pointing to the Mistletoe as if to say "The devil made me do it."

"Merry Christmas... FullMetal one."

"He crushed my dreams... **HE CRUSHED THEM SO HARD**!"

The End...

(In the comic I originally did for this, it ended with Edward rocking himself while crying to Winry about his trauma, and Roy brushing teeth while Riza scolds him. "You've just lost _your _kissing priveleges for a month!" ... "If wush jusht a joke!" Gotta love the RoyAi. Tee hee)


	10. Earrings: RizaxWinry

A/N: I initially wasn't sure how this would work out. I've never really understood how Riza/Winry would get along as a pairing, until I heard about this little detail in the manga, that Winry had gotten her ears pierced because she liked how earrings looked on Hawkeye, and that Hawkeye grew her hair long because of Winry. That seemed cute enough to spark an interest for me. So, here it is. Pure Fluff! (I'm going against my beloved RoyAi. Be happy.)

Earrings

"Here! I got you something!" The girl cheerily declared, holding forward a plainly wrapped box. The surprised lieutenant raised a blonde eyebrow, as she hesitantly took the parcel.

"What's the occasion?" She inquired, glancing back at the grinning mechanic.

"No reason," Winry beamed, "You can open it now, if you want." The radiant smile she gave made Riza nearly melt from the infectious cuteness. She found herself on the verge of giggling herself with the impetuous girliness that always seemed to travel through osmosis whenever she stood near the girl.

"Earrings," She declared, picking one up and admiring the glitter it gave as it dangled from her thumb and forefinger. It was delicate, fancy; so unlike anything she would wear. Earrings, just as with anything she used, were approached with simplicity and caution. In her line of work, unnecessary objects just asked for trouble. Long earrings immediately brought to mind images of snagged cloth and torn earlobes. It was just in her nature to take precautions. Yet she'd found small parts of her cautious nature giving way to an appreciation of frivolity whenever she spent more time with the Elrics' mechanic.

"It's lovely," She told the girl, smiling warmly.

"I thought of you, when I saw the amber and red stones on those. They're just like your eyes, see? I didn't really realize until too late that they don't match your uniform at all. I hope you still like them, though."

"They're wonderful. Thank you very much, Miss Rockbell."

"I told you. Call me Winry."

"Winry." Riza smiled and patted her head, the most affection she'd ever ventured to display since the last time she'd hugged her mother goodbye on holiday.

"This reminds me. Will you be attending the ball at the Hakuro residence this evening?"

"Mmm Hmm!" Winry nodded, "Edward invited me."

"Then I shall see you there tonight."

Hawkeye spent the better part of her afternoon, uncharacteristically pouring through her closet in search of just the right colors.

And, as opposed to what most everyone assumed, she _hadn't_ shed her uniform in favor for her finest red dress in order to get a certain Colonel's attention at the ball that night.

(End)

**A/N/Rant**: Edit: Rant shortened. In response to:

"You're a homophobe. Loser"

Yup. Sure I am. Thank you, Miss Moo. If you should feel like submitting a valid, justified opinion, or maybe providing some viable identity, I'm open. Until then, you are simply an anonymous n00b.

Za end! (Love!)


	11. Tramps Like Us: LegolasxEd wtf?

**Author's Note**: Why did we stick 'Legolas' in the hat? Lord knows.

Even _I_ may never understand the logic of fangirlism.

Uh... may contain spoilers for the end of the series (In a way), for 'the gate', etc.

Yup, yup! Pure unashamed crack.

"Tramps Like Us"

He was underaged, and quite obviously so, which is why, as he approached the bar, he irritatedly waved his hand as if to sweep the bartender's apprehension away as he spoke,

"Just coffee for me," and slumped down upon the torn vinyl cushion of the stool.

It occured to the bartender to warn him that coffee might stunt his growth, but there was something he could read in the boy's venomous glance that such a comment just may result in his one or more missing appendage.

This particular bartender (The name was Phil, thank you very much for asking, since you all obviously care so much about his name) had a particular talent for reading people and understanding their problems, which all began in his tragic childhood with his kindly mother, but then, nobody wants to hear about that, now, do they? Nooo, no character development for the forgotten, nameless bartender (Yes, he's nameless now, because we've clearly all forgotten 'Phil' out of our apathy for this background character).

He smiled sympathetically at the blonde boy who was clearly having the greatest case of male PMS in history, and turned to fix him some coffee. His inborn fatherly sense of duty to nourish (Once again, a detail uncared for, much to the misfortune of all of you who may never have the pleasure of knowing such a kindly person, you apathetic bastards!) gave him the idea to mix some milk in with the boy's coffee, which he began doing, just as coincidentally, the teen called,

"No milk in there, 'kay?" Phil jerked, a little, but kept pouring casually, and hid the carton as he brought out the mug for his pint sized customer.

"I just put a little non-dairy creamer in there," he lied. It wasn't within his policy to lie to the customer, but his instincts told him that this boy was alone in the world and without parental figures to give him proper nutrition, and dammitt, if this kid was ever going to get some calcium, it might as well be now. (Ah, Phil. Sweet Phil. Sweet, sensitive, loving Phil.)

The blond considered the muddy looking brew rather disgustedly, before deciding to hastily down it anyway to calm his jumpy nerves.

It was sensible to be tense, what with all he'd been through. One way through the gate was a hell of a way to travel, but it hadn't ever occured to him that the gate wasn't just a link between two worlds, but a plethora of other every-which way dimensions up until he'd harnessed the power of gate travel and consquently had his guts scrambled in every unpleasant way possible as he got knocked from door to door like a hapless pinball, stopping at some worlds, and then moving on again before he finally got sick of the interdemensional upchucking and stopped for a break in this relatively normal looking dimension, where he was able to sit and relax for a drink with bartender whats-his-name.

He was more than a little unnerved. After all, he'd seen many, many unpleasant things...

"Still dosen't seem to be doing a thing," A voice several feet down the bar to his left commented primly, it's owner discarding what appeared to be his fiftieth shot glass with grace, "Are you sure this alchohol is working?"

"I'll tell you, it's been working since the beginning," Phil commented, "Since your first shot you've been rambling about 'internets' and 'fangirls' and all that nonsense."

Edward's ears perked up at this. "Internet"? "Fangirls"? Could it be?...

"But I'm telling you, it's the honest truth." The man, a traveller in odd clothes who appeared to be in his twenties, spoke sensibly, seriously with a proper accent that would have you expecting to see tea rather than vodka in front of him. Phil just smiled good naturedly and indulged the customer upon his request with yet another glass. Ed was intrigued.

"Oy!" He called casually towards the drinker beside him, who paid him no response, so he spoke louder, "Oooooy!" Still no response. He didn't especially feel like standing up again, plus, there was the fact that the butt of his leather pants was sticking helplessly to the vinyl seat cover, so he gripped the legs of the stool and used momentum to scoot-hop over to his left and lurch to a halt beside the still-not-innebriated-but-apparently-deaf Mister Fancy pants, and give him a miffed greeting punch on the shoulder.

"Hey! You'd think you'd hear me with those big ears of yours," Ed scowled, upset, but not waiting to beat around the bush, "What was this about that crap you were talking about? Where're you from?"

"I'll have you know, I am prince Legolas of Mirkwood, Middle Earth, and that was my arm you just punched."

"Yeah, whatever, Prince pansy. What's this Middle Earth now?"

"It's Middle Earth. The only one there is. Why must it be so difficult to explain this to everyone?" The indicated Prince Pansy had taken grip of his silky long blond hair and was yanking at it frustratedly, before he remembered that he wasn't supposed to damage the roots, and patted it down again. He coughed and continued, "I'm not quite sure how I ended up here. I was on my way to the Gray Havens, when I collided with some great door, and I wound up in several strange lands before finally ending up here."

Edward just pretended to know what Gray Havens were and nodded.

"And I'm telling you, the creator of this universe has some sick sense of humor my friend. In some of these worlds, they know about me, only it's not me. Well, you see, they know about myself, and all of my comrades as though we were... fictional characters. And on this confounded internet thing, which I will not even attempt to explain, mind you, they write disgusting works of literature featuring us."

The shorter visiter gasped, and realized where he thought he knew this guy from.

"Fanfiction..." He gaped, a little incredulous that someone else of his same predicament even existed, let alone happened to be sitting at the same bar as he.

"You know it?" Legolas asked, stunned.

"Yeah, and I think I know you. You're the pansyish slut of your group who's obsessed with your hair,"

"I most certainly am not!" Legolas declared proudly, "... although I wouldn't mind having a personal stylist like in that one story... NO! That's beside the point! I am a proud prince of woodland Elves! I will not stand for such disgrace to my name. And I most certainly am not a slut."

"Well neither am I, but tell that to the yaoi fangirls," Ed muttered, leaning on his fist and taking a sip from his coffee.

"Yaoi?" the prince asked, befuddledly.

"It's Japanese. The term they use for slash. Apparently, they all think it's cooler to use Japanese terms."

"Like... fangirl Elvish?" Legolas asked, tentatively.

"Exactly."

"So we've both been exploited in the same way."

"Yeah."

"And now we both just happen to be here at this bar together, in this world,"

"With Bartender Paul-"

"Phil!" The bartender interjected, a little hurt in his voice, pointing to his nametag.

"Well, anyhow, Fred aside, it's a pretty interesting coincidence, huh?" Ed laughed.

"That it most certainly is."

They settled into a silent pause, interrupted occasionally by unceremonious slurping, rather unsure of how to continue their conversation, considering how little they really knew about eachother, aside from what little they'd heard, and the exploitation they shared in common, which was a rather difficult abuse to discuss.

"So..." Edward began, tapping his finger on the countertop, his eyes dodging around, as he absentmindedly searched his brain for topics to bring up, and he tactlessly brought out the first thought that came to mind, "You really get around don't you?"

Legolas took a spit take with his drink and stuttered, "W-What's that supposed to mean?"

"I'm sorry," Ed held his hands up in apology realizing his mistake, "It- It's just that- well... in the fanfics... well, you know. You're quite a- a- a-..."

"Manwhore?"

"Yeah, that's it. Manwhore. I mean, no-... yes-... I mean... uh- uh" He scratched his head akwardly, "You do it well. That's to say... well... you know- you're good manwhore material... y'know?"

"... well, thanks," Legolas muttered, "I suppose you are too. At least, you do have potential. You have nice hair, at least. That is a good start."

"Thanks." Ed blushed and looked at the bottom of his coffee cup.

"I've been thinking, actually," Legolas mentioned, tracing the brim of one of his glasses with his finger boredly, "About those stories, and stuff, and... well... They're not true, but, it has gotten me to thinking how I haven't had it in a thousand years. And I do get lonely..."

"I know what you mean," Edward lied. He really didn't know what he'd meant, since, screw a thousand years; he hadn't had it _ever_, but considering how much more slutting around Legolas had done in fanfiction than he had, he wasn't about to let him think that he had more experience than him. After all, he had his pride.

"I know this might be akward..." Legolas said, "But I have seduced hobbits before, or so they say..."

"WHO ARE YOU CALLING A HOBBIT?" Ed fumed, but was quickly interupted,

"-And in this world, there are no fangirls to watch and follow us around with their hidden webcams. So, don't you think, after all those stories, that maybe we _do_ need a little lovin'?"

"I guess..."

The prince placed a hand firmly on the alchemist's shoulder.

"Let's go make out." He offered, bluntly, and yet somehow strangely charismatically. The alchemist looked, considered this for a moment, then shrugged.

"Sure. Why not? I got nothing better to do."

So they walked out of the bar, jovially, hand in hand.

"W-wait! You forgot to pay your-"

(Slam)

"-bill..." Phil sighed and gazed at the dirty unpaid-for glasses on the countertop in front of him. He supposed it was all for the best. Even if he couldn't really understand their situations, he was glad that perhaps he was able to help someone make their lives better, and certainly letting some bills slide out of charity would be fine once in a while. He was just a nice guy like that, you see.

And perhaps just being nice would pay pack in it's own way in the long run, through some divine justice...

The lights went out.

"_Dammit_."


	12. Central Scramble: Fruits Basket gets inv...

**A/N**: No, I did not just think up these pairings. When drawing the crossover pairs, these really were the couples we drew. My hat can seem... scarily intuitive sometimes. (Shudders)

Yay for teh Furuba!

This chapter contains crack, crossovers, shonen ai, shoujo ai, and silly man-fanservice.

**Central Scramble!**

Roy leaned back in his chair pensively, gazing over the various papers in his hands, before finally smirking with satisfaction and set them back upon his desk. He folded his fingers together, conspiring megalowmaniac style, and peered over his little finger steeple of doom with an admittedly impressive smirk.

"So, do you suppose this could really work? Am I honestly benefitting from this plan of yours?"

"Oh ho ho ho ho!" Came the giggle from behind a splayed japanese fan, which was nearly as impressive of a smug-superiorist-image tool as was Roy's hand placement. The colonel decided to position his right foot upon his left knee to give more of an important posture. One can never be too careful when trying to assert his superiority.

"I believe you'll find all the plans flawless. With my academic expertise, there's no way we can lose. It's perfect." His guest snapped back his fan to reveal a jovially grinning young face. He wasn't quite as commanding in appearance as the colonel whilst wearing his boyish grin, yet the evil mastermind aura behind it was keeping the flame alchemist on the subconscious gaurd.

In spite of the uneasy competition in the air, Roy definitely liked this guy. Of course, having only met him about a half an hour ago didn't count for much in the trust department, but their minds had instantly clicked upon their meeting, and in no time, the Flame Alchemist's office was thick with the pungent air of a conspiracy brewing.

"It seems so simple... yet I wonder why I never thought of it before. Recruiting high school girls into the military..."

"Yes indeed. Nobody will suspect the strength you can muster. They seem so innocent, but few people know that teenaged girls hold the keys to most aspects of the world. Capturing their interest is instant success. Why else do you think I'd write these romance novels?" The man in the guest chair displayed a set of pastel colored novels with the charisma of a seasoned salesman. Not only did the impressive confidence intimidate Roy, but he squirmed a little, reminding himself that he had actually accidentally enjoyed that series and was currently itching to know whether Fujiko and Kosuke would really find true love in the end. He coughed and continued,

"Well, that's all just fine. But are you certain we can make the recruiting subtle and swift enough to be effective?"

"No problem there. I've already manipulated documents, and slipped copies of the propaganda letters into all the popular magazines. You'll have lovely young soldiers knocking at your door in no time. They'll be able to help you climb your way to the top."

"Well, that's excellent. But more importantly... I'm fascinated by these uniform designs you've presented."

"Oh, do you like them? Yes, I sketched them myself, you see. Based upon the uniforms of some local high schools, blended into one super-outfit with my superior artistic techniques!" The green yukata clad man struck a pose which made his ego appear at least five sizes larger. Roy was rather reminded of Armstrong, sans the sparkles... and the obscene amount of muscles... and the semi-nudist tendencies.

He got up from his chair, remembering to retain his greater-than-thou smirk all the while, and approached his clever guest.

"I suppose we have a deal. But I don't believe you will be able to go unnoticed in that- that... getup." Roy guestured to the novelist's... interesting attire.

"I'm already one step ahead of you. While I do hold true to the theory that a novelist cannot be without a kimono and a pen, I am always prepared to go incognito. If I may show you." He materialized a photograph from his pocket, a dashing image of the juvenile author in a crisp black suit.

'_Damn_, this guy looks good in a suit. I'd better watch my back.' Roy unconsiously pulled on his collar.

"In that case, I will cooperate with you. I look forward to working with you, Mister Sohma." Roy had no sooner shaken the man's hand than a loud crash signaled the breaking of his office door.

"Stop right there, Colonel!" The familiar and frightening voice of Hawkeye commanded.

"Lieutenant Hawkeye!" Roy half squeaked, trying to maintain his wits about him, as much as a person can when confronted with a pissed Hawkeye's gun, and the remnants of a broken door.

"That's Brigadier General Hawkeye to you, Colonel. I'm giving orders now, and I'm here to stop this little coup of yours before it gets any further." Roy absently noted how lovely the barrel of a gun could be when you believed it might be the last one you ever see, when he noticed her companion, arms folded, and wielding a lead pipe.

"Brigadi- how did- ... who is _she_?"

"Arisa Uotani. Nice to meet you, sir. And she's brigadier general now because we uncovered this little hairbrained scheme Shigure has been plotting for months, and so we decided to climb before you did so we could overpower you. Just through good old fashioned physical threats and all that stuff. Girl power!" The blonde flexed and grinned.

"Th-that's all very nice, but... Shigure, you mean to tell me you've been planning this for months? And Hawkeye, why didn't you help _me _climb the ranks that fast before?"

Hawkeye cooly shrugged without lowering her gunpoint, "Didn't have an Uo before."

Well, that made sense.

The novelist watched the spectacle, frozen with fear, but still with his goofy super deformed grin plastered to his face. The younger blonde approached him, patting the pipe against her palm threateningly.

"You just couldn't keep the perviness to yourself, could ya, Sohma?"

"N-now, Arisa- m-miss Uotani... there's no need looking at me like that. After all, I'm just- just- OH, LOOK! A DISTRACTION!" He pointed behind her shoulder.

Now, in most situations, there would have been no reason for a relatively sensible girl such as Uo to fall for such a comically ridiculous trick, but incidentally, there was a smash, and she turned to see what was going on, allowing the novelist to dive beneath a couch cushion and cower.

"Was that good?" A woman's sultry voice asked.

"Yes," replied a mellow teenage girl, "I believe that is a splendid entrance. Very nice job at breaking that light." The two figures stepped through the doorway across the shards of broken glass.

"Hanajima?" The gangster girl asked inquisitively, "What the heck was that for?"

"I wanted to make a decent announcement of our arrival. And seeing as you'd already broken the door, I didn't want us to be outdone."

"'Us', eh? Who've you got there?" The yankee guestured toward the black clad woman who was holding Hana's hand, and brandishing her talons with the other hand.

"This is Lust," Stated the gothic girl matter-of-factly, "She is one of the homunculi, and she has some of the most fascinating denpa waves I have ever sensed."

Roy made a face that indicated that this had to be one of the oddest statements he'd ever heard (Outside of some odd quips originating from Hughes' drinking parties back in college, but we shant get into those.)

Hana sensed the utter confusion coming from the Colonel, and decided to put things more plainly.

"We have a deep understanding of each other, you see. Lust, in spite of what you judging fools may believe, is simply misunderstood. She just wants to love and be loved, and understanding that, I have indulged her. So, yes, Mister Roy Mustang, we are indeed an 'item' now. I'm certain you don't have a problem with that."

The yankee girl placed her hands on her hips and laughed heartily,

"No, way, girl. More power to ya!" She made an enthusiastic fist.

Roy got the sinking feeling that he was being drowned in estrogen, and for once, it wasn't a good thing.

"Well speaking of power," Lust spoke up, "As a team, we've realized we've become more powerful than ever. More powerful in fact, than, -forgive me Riza darling-, than Hawkeye and Uo-Chan themselves. We've already staged and carried out a successful coup, and with our denpa-talon combination powers, we have already taken over the entire military."

Roy's jaw dropped to the floor. It had taken years of blood sweat and tears for him to make it this far, and now what? His coveted position was being usurped by a pair of violent gothic lesbians? What was the world coming to?

"Well, that takes care of that. Now, on the topic of what to do with these guys," Hawkeye guestured to the two solitary males in the room who were now completely petrified and a little bit intrigued.

Hana shot a slicing glare in Shigure's direction,

"And no, Mister Shigure, you may not 'watch'."

Lust rolled her eyes,

"Men," She scoffed.

Uo twisted her lip curiously as she came upon the stack of papers on the colonel's desk, and flipped to his rather fascinating fashion sketches.

"Well, since they seem to like sailor fuku so much, I think I have an idea..."

It was bad enough that they were exploited as the uber sexy cross-dressing mascots of the military in propaganda for the teenage audience, but _really_, using a yaoi appeal as well? _That_ was just cruel.

(End)


	13. Omake? :D

Kureno swiveled his head cautiously, as he stepped forward in the moonlight towards his secret beau. The hobbit gazed back at him lovingly, his eyes aglow with the forbidden excitement of their meeting, and the blue wash of the hazy moon.

"Oh, Frodo," He whispered, kneeling to his lover's height and taking his hand, "I'm so glad you came. I knew you would." Frodo placed a hand on the taller man's face and smiled,

"Of course, I came. I could never forget you, Kureno darling."

The scene proceeded in stereotypical mushiness, while in the distance, behind a fortress of generic shrubbery, several heads poked up and spyed upon the encounter.

"So," Gimli whispered, "Do you think it'll ever work out?"

"No way," Replied Aragorn, "Sam will kill him if he tries anything.

At the same time, about a hundred yards opposite, some similarly stealthy, albeit more two-dimensional spies poked their heads up.

"What do you think?" Kagura asked, clearly concerned for the outcome of this relationship, "Do you think they'll find happiness?"

"No," Hatsuharu stated plainly, "Akito will kill him if he tries anything."


	14. Promises: EnvyxWrath revisited

**Author's Note:** Blah! The hat kept telling me to write Envy/Wrath, and my brain kept saying 'No! You're sick.' I honestly don't have anything against Envy/Wrath; in fact, I think it makes perfect sense, and rocks if done well. I just can't seem to get it right. I'll be trying it again, in a serious matter. I might have to make another drabble just to see if I can do it right. On a similar note, upon my better judgement, I removed Alphonse and Wrath both from the hat until further notice, seeing as they're both too young, and pretty much ineligible. I'll probably put them back in someday, seeing as I'll probably get desperate, and start making super-crack.

This one sucks. Hope it's better next time.

**Promises**

"Eat it," the creature's smooth voice commanded of him, holding forward the red stone. The boy's eyes darted from the violet eyes that stared at him solidly, as though reading his thoughts and then some, to the slender gloved hand that offered the tempting, deadly meal. He drew himself back against the wall, pressing his shoulder blade uncomfortably on the cold surface. This person was scary, and yet so powerful; in his childish mind, that equated to some importance.

The shapeshifter slyly sneaked a tiny stone into his open mouth, and he swallowed it, unawares. It surprised him; the wonderful drug-like sensation of consuming the product of innocent human lives. He wanted more. But he was terrified.

"What's wrong? It's not tasty?" The creature chided to him, grinning sardonically. He looked over his captor again, trying to figure out what it was. It looked pretty... that was his first thought. It was powerful, and smart, and had those wonderful stones. Was it an angel? There to help him? He couldn't quite figure it out...

It leaned closer, smiling seductively, and whispered in his ear.

"Go ahead. Eat them, and you'll never be alone from this day forward."

There was an instinct of a shudder within him. He knew that word "Alone", and didn't like it. He didn't know much, but he knew it was bad; terrible; worse than dying.

"Promise?" he mewled timidly.

The angel grinned knowingly, and caressed his cheek, "Promise."

Without hesitation, the boy swiped the stones from his captor's hands and devoured them ravenously, hissing like a starved animal.

The red stones hit his guts like a frozen knife, and he fell into convulsions on the floor.

He regained his memories. He earned his name; Wrath, and tried so hard to live it out. He wanted to make sure he was always good enough for them all. He was good enough for sloth, for Dante... for 'Envy', his first savior, his angel.

But his dreams were all dashed in a blinding torrent of tragedy, as he watched his mother dissolve at the hands of that Elric bastard, and screamed in terror. He barely felt the foot in his ribs until he looked up and saw it was Envy, trying to silence his tears. What had happened to the gaurdian angel he knew? Why was Envy hurting him? Why was he leaving now?

Envy took the younger Elric and dashed away agilely, and Wrath could only hopelessly watch. He was there now, abandoned in this empty warehouse. So alone.

He clutched his acid burnt skin, and his voice cracked as the tears stung his eyes, and he screamed out in agony,

"YOU PROMISED!"

Envy never even looked back.


	15. Rain: MartelxWinry

**(AU)**

**Rain**

Winry didn't like this. She didn't like it at all. It was really hard enough trying to avoid the harassment of that annoying senior girl while she was at school. Long days of name-calling, yanked ponytails, and chair kicking were easy enough to put up with so long as she was still at school and in the company of her supportive friends, but having to encounter her on a relatively dead business day as she worked overtime at the shop, all alone; Now that was a different matter altogether. It had crossed her mind to maybe get her back by refusing service, but her grandmother's long speeches of how a Rockbell never turned down a job, and the foreboding projections of getting lipstick smeared all over her locker kept her still while the taller blonde pushed open the door, running her fingers through her rain-beaded hair.

"My bike's busted," She stated plainly, flicking her palms over the slicked surface of her leather coat, sheeting the droplets in random directions, "And it's raining."

Why hello, Miss obvious.

Winry separated herself completely from the underbelly of the Elric Jalopy (as Edward had so fondly named it) and wiped her grime encrusted hands down the front of her coveralls, critically inspecting the new customer. First things first, she couldn't just let the girl stand there sopping, so she grabbed one of the cleaner towels from the corner where all her jumpsuits hung from the wall, and chucked it in the delinquent's direction.

"You look like hell," The biker commented, smartly smirking as she brushed the towel over her head, eyeing the mechanic's oil streaked face.

"I'm most certainly shocked to hear you talking, Miss wet-rodent Martel." Winry raised an eybrow as she shot back. She thought over how she really never learned Martel's first name. It was just the mysterious, criminally tinged sound of her last name by which angered teachers, familiar security gaurds, and sketchy gang-mates always addressed her. And between smuggled cigarettes in school, class cutting, bullying complaints, and that damned facial tatoo that had gotten the school board in an uproar for several weeks in a heated debate over the school policy, there was definitely a lot of yelling going on.

"So, do you need your bike fixed?" Winry asked begrudgingly, hands on her hips.

"What do you think, pinhead?" Martel shot back.

"I can't very well get it while it's out there in the torrent, now can I?" She guestured to the garage window, which was waved with sheets of heavy rain.

"Nope," Martel grinned, giving herself a seat in a spare chair against the wall, "I guess you're stuck with me."

No. Way.

"Well, just keep quiet," Winry pouted as she returned to slide back underneath her current project. She worked in silence for a while, happily drifting back into her happy land of mechanical workings, when she heard a 'click, click, click' from Martel's direction. She turned her head and promptly sat up in a panic.

"OOOOOWWW!" She screeched, favoring her sore forehead, but not pausing to stomp angrily toward the lighter-happy girl, who had a cigarette in her mouth, "What do you think you're doing, you moron! Do you want to start an oil fire?" She swiped the lighter quickly from the older girl's fingers. Martel just grinned jovially.

"So, you _are_ awake," She sniggered, "I was just checking. Don't get your panties in a bunch, dweeb."  
Winry'd had it.

"Why don't you just shut up for once? It's always 'dweeb' this, and 'machine freak' that. I'm really sick of it! What makes you think you're so much better than me?" She snapped out viciously, glaring at a mildly stunned Martel.

"I don't think I'm better than you,"

"Oh, suuure. I hear the crap you're always talking about me with your friends. Does it ever occur to you that you might hurt somebody's feelings?"

"Sh-shit, I'm sorry."

"Don't say that unless you mean it."

"No, really. I am. I didn't think you took it so seriously. It's just- look; I won't do it anymore, 'kay?"

Winry scoffed,

"So you say. But only for as long as your bike still needs fixing."

Martel looked up as if to respond, and lowered her head again, somewhat ashamedly. After a brief pause, she spoke up,

"But really... do you think you would have even noticed me if I hadn't done all that shit?"

The mechanic tilted her head, a bit startled, "Hm?"

"Would you even know my name? Or would we just be total strangers?"

Winry frowned and considered this for a moment before she shook her head,

"No. You and I are way too different."

"Is that so?" Martel muttered and chuckled, shrugging, "I guess I always sort of knew that." She set her hand on her knee and got up, heading toward the door, where the rain still hadn't ceased outside.

"Wait," Winry ejected, "Your- what about your bike?"

Martel looked back, her hand against the door frame,

"Oh? That... I guess it's not so bad after all. It'll still work. Thanks anyway. Sorry for wasting your time."

She walked out into the downpour and let the door slam shut after her, leaving a shocked Winry standing alone.

Winry froze, and dropped her arm, sliding a hand against her elbow, and noted that the room was suddenly somewhat colder.

(End)

**Postscript**: Hee. I really liked this one. The pairing initially frustrated me, because it made no sense, but then, that's what this is all about. This is all stereotypical opposite-side-of-the-tracks/teasing-the-girl-you-like, and all that jazz, but I enjoyed the idea nonetheless. Ciao till next time!


	16. Sealed: EnvyxGreed

(Spoilers?)

He couldn't say he was surprised. Greed had known this would be coming all along. He'd been far too careless, too impulsive, too desperate as he attempted to flee his master's grip. And now, in the heat of intense battle with the little bastard Envy, he was going to pay for it.

"So," he chuckled, smirking sarcasticaslly, "That bitch sent you instead of coming herself? Should have known."

Envy grinned in a way that no sane person who'd never savored the taste of blood could ever hope to imitate. He was enjoying this far too much.

"Dante can't be troubled with the likes of you. So I get to have the fun of sealing your sorry arse," Envy swung to plant a shattering kick in the center of Greed's unaffected face. The younger sin just laughed.

"Mama's boy," He chided, flicking the shapeshifter backwards to an upright landing, "You should know you're not getting anything done with that." Envy returned with several well placed punches.

"Of course," He teased, with that secretive glint in his eye again, "Maybe I'm just playing with you."

Greed wasn't interested in beating around the bush. He caged Envy's tiny frame in an iron grip, and squeezed threateningly.

"Playing, huh? So, you have a secret weapon? Too bad I'll maybe just crush you before you get a chance. Too bad for you." An instant flash of blue, and Envy turned his head to stare down his captor with a new face.

"Then do it," He mocked in a voice that wasn't his own. The dangerously hazel eyes bore right through Greed, and he lost his grip of the newly shifted form.

"You- bastard." He stammered.

"You don't think I forgot, do you? This was the form you fell in love with. The one you stole her in," The rouged lips peeled into a cruel smile, "You can't strike her down, can you?"

"I can. You-" Greed lunged, but it was too late. He'd already hesitated just enough. Just a moment; enough time for Envy to reach for a satchel and hold it forward, paralyzing the shield before him.

Greed froze, his senses numbed, his nerves pinched in a forced stiffened shock; useless under the power of the skull Envy held, as the feminine figure approached him.

"I'll never forgive you for loving her," the false Dante muttered, striking him to the ground, and following upon him, crushing his lips in a last, forceful kiss. Pulling away, the face was Envy's once again,

"-more than me." He finished. Greed couldn't bear the paralyzing force any longer, and his head rolled to the side, utterly defeated.

And Greed was sealed.

_End_

A/N: Hey, I took upon some suggestions, and made a larger fic from one of my drabbles! It's in progress currently. So, please, do look for my new story, "Blame it on the Rain", the AU MartelxWinry drama.


	17. Necking: HavocxFury

**Disclaimer**: HavocxFury unofficially belongs to Spades44. I'm renting it, and utterly degrading it with my drabble suckiness. (Grin)

"Why do you suppose they call it necking?" Cain asked, quite ever so randomly, breaking the silence that consumed the office. Jean raised an eyebrow, as he gazed over the edge of his unlit cigarette at his new officemate as though the Sergeant Major had some wild animal perched atop his head, although considering the young man's affinity for animals, it was not quite as incredulous of a gaze as one might expect.

"Do you always ask these kinds of things out of the blue?" Havoc asked, cocking his head. He'd supposed he knew Fury well enough beforehand, but having a torrent of some mini-monsoon on the day they began using their shared office proved that there was quite a strong akwardness for the greater part of the afternoon. If there was any testiment to their self-contained boredness, it had been manifested in the small brigade of origami frogs that lined up on Fury's desk.

"Well, no..." Fury replied, tiny pink spots forming on his cheeks as he poked his fingers together, "But it's just odd the way some words are used in our language- don't you think? I mean- you don't use your neck; you use your lips, and mouth and ton-" He cut his sentence short and sharply turned away, sensing when he'd said far too much. Havoc just shook his head at the ridiculousness, and utter cuteness of the question.

"I'd say you've been into Sciezka's secret stash," The Lieutenant laughed, earning an incriminating blush. Said blush only grew when Havoc's bored face dropped into a far more amused expression, and the blond approached him.

"Well... there's nothing better to do. What do you say we figure it out?"

Fury had to roll his shirt collar considerably higher the next day.


	18. The Guise: HavocxEnvy

**A/N**: Actually, this was originally meant to be Roy, but it works nicely with Havoc as well. Inspired by a quote; "We all know that Roy has a lot of girlfriends, but do we know just how many of them are actually Envy?" That made me giggle. So, on with it, then! Angsty Havoc-ness. _Heart_!

**Monotony**

Everybody had always supposed Havoc's demeanor would grow brighter once he started scoring. If his pub-time bragging was any testiment, his luck had improved tenfold, and he had within a matter of months, become a regular womanizer; not enough to rival the Colonel perhaps, but enough to merit some all-around awe. Yet, in spite of all the pride he displayed upon telling of his good fortune, and for how much he tried to smile with the hubris that was due to him, his eyes betrayed a hidden downfall; a secret worry that seemed to only open into a greater void the higher his fortune became.

Although he never told anyone, he felt it; smelled it; sensed it somehow in the air. He knew something was not right; that each of his new mistresses was the same; there was a mundane repetetiveness, and a lock of insincerity that bound him that he could not explain. At first he supposed it was just a simple grass-is-greener complex, but late in an evening while he was engaged in normal foolishness with one of his most recent bedmates, he saw something; the same lost depth in her gaze; that same sentiment as he had. The same as they'd all had.

He was at the bar, alone this time, with nobody to brag to; to hide his insecurities from and he thought about this for some time, over the icy glass rim and pile of musty ashes. And it was then, he saw it.

He saw _them_, beneath a dark cloak, and a mane of messy tendril-like hair. Glowing, darting, upon a pale face of some indescernable sex, and he knew. They were those eyes. They were watching him, just as they had. They had watched him all this time, and analyzed him, pitied him,_ wanted _him. Yes, it was all _that person_. The face disappeared as it turned, cutting it's gaze.

He approached the figure, and caught it by the wrist, spinning the flawless face, the true thing, towards him.

"I've been waiting for you to show up," He simply said, and took initiative in their first honest kiss.


	19. Smile: HavocxRose

It was no secret that Lieutenant Havoc liked women. It was his tragic achilles-esque weakness, his constant distraction in the pastime of casual romance, which often kept him negligent from his military duties, or from anything else for that matter. He loved spending hours in trendy clubs, flirting, securing new catches, feeling the excitement of each new lady of interest. He loved the way they walked, the way they dressed, the way they flirted and teased, and even the way they elegantly drank, giving him their best flirtatious glances as he serenaded them with his best and most perfectly rehearsed lines.

This is probably why he had so much trouble when he met Rose. Immediately attracted to her undefinable strangely mixed spirit of shy honesty and subtle strength, he had to remind himself that she was too young for any of his usual hangouts. He had to rethink his entire lifestyle before working up the nerve to ask her out; considering the career; considering the smoking; considering the baby. (It struck him as a cruel irony that she was old enough to be a mother, yet not old enough to drink) They finally worked out an odd schedule, that was unorthodox, but fit just the same. He grew used to seeing his favorite bars less and less, and carrying the baby on their dates more and more, as well as gentle slapping on the wrist everytime he instinctively reached for his cigarettes, which almost made him regret the whole thing, until staring into her eyes overcame his momentary nicotine impulse.

He once thought he loved the little moments when his date would sip away her sobriety, and blushing with intoxication, lean against him, slurringly declaring that she 'just might have fallen in love'. Now, she was sitting there across the table from him, staring across her strawberry milkshake and smiling- honestly smiling- all her consiousness undisturbed. Without any pretense, and without any taint. Without all the silly games, and pickup lines, and coyness and lies and hidden agendas, there she was- smiling. And he had no words.

He'd been teased about it, and advised against it. He'd been called 'Mister Mom', and 'Cradle Robber' in jest by his friends. He'd been warned about what such a relationship might do to his military career- dating a child, and what's more, a child who _had _a child- surely he would be happy with another woman.

Rose was not a child, and she was not 'another woman'; she was just Rose, and although he wasn't sure what to call the feeling he felt when she smiled at him, he knew it was perfect.


	20. Tattoo: LustxEnvy

SPOILERS

**A/N**: This was inspired by a conversation on a message board, in which the prospect of the Uroborus tattoo's properties were brought up. The gist of it was, "If Gluttony just became a ravenous zombie when his tattoo was activated, if the same was done for Lust, would she, like, get... really horny?"

A crash. A shriek. A screech of metal-like talons against stone wall. Not very uncommon sounds to be heard in the cavernous labrynths of Dante's mansion, where homunculi had spats among each other to rival that of any pack of vicious canine chimarae. And yet, there was something of a difference, in the scream that came through the corridors. It became more apparent as the sin appeared, crashing into walls, and tearing down tapestries as he scrambled, that it was a strange cocktail of fear, disgust and absolute confusion.

His pursuer appeared, also ignoring the chaotic damage she left in her wake among shards of broken xingian vases (Dante would have a fit later on), and she had upon her face the simple and terrifying expression of pure, unbridled hunger. Claws. Rubble. A restrained Envy. She drew her arms around him, and smiled the most lecherous of smiles.

"Lust, what the HELL are you doing!" He screamed, thrashing against her iron grip.

"Don't play coy with me," She whispered, hands traveling down, "You're mine this time, tree boy."

Realization struck him like a lightning bolt, and drained his face white with pure fear.

"Shit! Dante activated your tattoo again, didn't she!"


End file.
